


By Sea and Land

by sunspeared



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A Consummate Professional, F/F, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:09:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5241008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunspeared/pseuds/sunspeared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never in her life has Isabela known a diplomat to say "it's only documents" and have it be <i>only</i> documents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Sea and Land

**Author's Note:**

> You know, every once in a while, Josie does something in a war table mission that makes me go, "...damn. Stone cold." One of those things was, "Hmmm, this guy does a lot of trade with Antiva, maybe if his tariffs were _mysteriously raised_ he'd have less time to shit-talk the Inquisition." And then someone prompted me Isabela/Josephine on Tumblr, so I wrote this little bit. 
> 
> (I feel like this warrants expanding. Who knows if I'll ever get around to it. In the meantime.)

“Ah,” the little ambassador says, “how do you two know one another?”

Cullen, who surely remembers Isabela’s reputation from Kirkwall, clears his throat loudly. The Nightingale clasps her hands behind her back, squares her shoulders, trying her damnedest to look enigmatic. The hood does most of the work, really. _Didn’t take much at_ all _to make you sing_ , Isabela thinks, as Leliana says, “I’ve had dealings with the Raiders in the past—”

“We had sex in a Denerim brothel during the Blight,” Isabela cuts in, kicking one boot up on their war table, "and we didn’t get back in _touch_ until a few years ago.”

Ambassador Montilyet isn’t outwardly offended by Isabela’s manners, or shocked, or interested in the innuendo. She moves on to asking after the health of one of Leliana’s agents. Whether the Inquisitor’s mercenary compatriots are finding their accommodations at Skyhold pleasant. Cullen’s recent budgetary concerns. The perfect lady, the consummate professional. That, Isabela decides, is a challenge. 

“What,” she says to Leliana, after the meeting, “no threats? No ‘toy with her heart, and you’ll get a nuggalope’s head in your bed’?”

“If you know of Josie,” Leliana says, “then you know that I am not the one you need worry about.”

Of course Isabela knows who Josephine Montilyet is. The first set of nautical charts she bought herself, nigh-on fifteen years ago, was a Montilyet—all six volumes, printed in color, gold-embossed pages, the works. The family’s heiress has a supporter in anyone who likes to see Orlais get the short end of a long stick in a trade negotiation, which is, incidentally, nearly everyone in Thedas. None of it prepared her for the long, aristocratic nose, the pretty smile, the unrelentingly _Antivan_ way she steps over men to get her way.

“Under normal circumstances, I would use the Valo-Kas to accompany my… sensitive materials,” Josephine says, days later, when she summons Isabela to her office. “However, I need a fast ship to get to Antiva and back, and Mistress Shokrakar gets seasick.”

She’s pulled a box of chocolates from her desk. Isabela has spent the last two months eating hardtack and biscuits, and Skyhold's fare isn't much of a step up. That's what comes of hiring Ferelden cooks. “I don’t take on cargo without knowing what it is,” Isabela says. "I made the mistake of not opening the crates"—metaphorical crates—“once. I lost my ship.”

“It’s only documents.” Josephine eats a chocolate, then presses her hand to her chest, embarrassed. “How rude of me—would you like one? Carastian candies, direct from Minrathous. A national treasure. Incredibly illegal to take across the border.”

Sharing contraband with a pirate: very smooth, very savvy. “Never in my life have I known a diplomat to say 'it’s only documents’ and have it be only documents,” Isabela says.

Will she spook if Isabela sits on her desk? Isabela perches on the edge of it anyway, and Josephine looks—Varric’s going to love this— _unruffled_. Of course she does. Orlesian nobles flirt in the same way knives cut throats. Let your guard down, and you’ll end up lying in a gutter somewhere. 

“I’m blackmailing a noble in order to get another’s tariffs raised,” Josephine says, holding out a chocolate. “My information is time-sensitive. Is that plain enough for you, Admiral?”

“Plain as day,” Isabela says. She eats the chocolate from Josephine’s hand, obediently; 'kitten’ won’t do, for this one. No ‘sweet thing,’ either—“My lady Ambassador. Admiral Isabela of the Siren’s Call, yours to command.”


End file.
